On Poetry

As I’ve gotten older and if not wiser, at least more experienced. I’ve developed a greater appreciation of poetry.

When one is young poetry is something forced upon you, whether a school assignment or a friend notebook at lunch. It is something to be dreaded, as either another assignment or some questing face looking to you for appreciation or at least recognition. Either way it’s not going to be good.

This year however, mostly through the Internet, I’ve been introduced to more and more poems and small stories that strike chords on strings that have been tuned with time. (How’s that for a poetic line). It started with an article I was reading about the fighting in Afghanistan. It was about an officer in the army and his habit of quoting Robert William Service.

Now here’s a poet for me, his poetry! damn I just lost another 15 minutes of my life going through his works trying to find one about a dog. Not 15 minutes wasted time but time reading new and anew.

Unforgotten

I know a garden where the lilies gleam,

And one who lingers in the sunshine there;

She is than white-stoled lily far more fair,

And oh, her eyes are heaven-lit with dream!

I know a garret, cold and dark and drear,

And one who toils and toils with tireless pen,

Until his brave, sad eyes grow weary -- then

He seeks the stars, pale, silent as a seer.

And ah, it's strange; for, desolate and dim,

Between these two there rolls an ocean wide;

Yet he is in the garden by her side

And she is in the garret there with him.

THAT right there me boyos is words that will get you laid.

If that doesn’t do it for you then read his Song of the Wage Slave after a bad day at work.

Ah found it! The Outlaw

See I told you it was about a dog.

Damn so much for writing, got to much to read…

I Suck at this blogging stuff.